


aufklärung

by dheiress



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Armin is Worried, Crack, Fluff, Footsie, Jean is a Bean, Jean is worried too, M/M, Manga Spoilers, New Squad Levi, POV Outsider, fluffy crack, for completely different reasons, in which the author has no idea how to use tags, it all happens in a single dinner, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 07:44:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5658208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dheiress/pseuds/dheiress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It first settles heavily in his stomach before splitting equally into two parts—one traveling up to his nape and raising the hairs on his skin, the other falling down to freeze his knees and toes.</p><p>(Jean does not know where it came from or how it came to be or why it even came to him during dinner, of all times. All he knew was that there is a sudden, horrifying, mind-shaking, gut-wrenching feeling telling him that, under the rickety dinner table the new Squad Levi shares, the Suicidal Bastard and the Corporal are—!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	aufklärung

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure, utter crack, don't take a bit of it seriously.
> 
> a.k.a. In which I wrote Jean flailing around Ereri/Riren when I should be worrying about my future.

 

**aufklärung**

_n. the enlightenment._

 

_..._

 

It first settles heavily in his stomach before splitting equally into two parts—one traveling up to his nape and raising the hairs on his skin, the other falling down to freeze his knees and toes.

 

...

 

(Jean stops mid-swallow, the potato stew he'd been happily slurping a moment before almost gushing out his agape mouth.

 

Nobody notices, except perhaps for Armin who only gives him a queer little side look before proceeding to eat his own stew in peace as if Jean is not having the worst epiphany in the whole history of epiphanies.)

 

...

 

It came from nowhere, sudden and horrifying like a lightning strike. There were no blushes, or little giggles, or lovesick sighs. There weren't even any lingering gazes over the table, nor were there stray nudges that hit any part of Jean under the table. There was nothing to clue him in to what was happening.

 

And yet.

 

...

 

(Though even if there were stray nudges, it was Mikasa, who was eating silently on the Bastard's left, or Sasha, whose appetite was as big as ever despite being reluctantly placed to the right of the Corporal, that should have been bothered. Not Jean.

 

 _Definitely not_ Jean who was _on the other side of the table_ and eating his fricking potato stew in peace.)

 

...

 

And yet.

 

_And yet._

 

...

 

(A warm hand taps his chin twice before gently closing his still open mouth.

 

"Jean, you were drooling. Jean. Jean?"

 

Armin's looking at him fully now, body slightly tilting towards him and a furrow between his eyebrows. Jean, still trapped in this mind-melting discovery (his very own, very terrifying _eureka!_ ), does not— _cannot_ —answer him in any way.)

 

...

 

Impossible.

 

They can't be, right?

 

The Bastard is suicidal and an idiot but surely--

 

There's no fricking way!

 

The Corporal wouldn't!

 

_Would he?_

That, that insidious feeling is wrong.

 

It must be wrong.

 

Jean needs it to be wrong for the sake of the little left of his sanity, at the very least.

 

Because Eren Jeager, Humanity's Last Hope and the 104th's Suicidal Bastard, cannot possibly, under any logical circumstance, be playing _footsie_ with the Corporal Levi, Humanity's Strongest and the Bastard's guard dog, of all people (and during their first formal dinner as the new Squad Levi of all times!).

 

Right?

 

_Right?_

...

 

(At the head of the table, the Corporal sips his tea, holding it in that weird way with his thumb and index finger and looking for all the world like the suffering teenage brother forced to watch over his younger siblings. The Suicidal Bastard is on the man's left, concentrated on finishing his soup and nodding along Mikasa's slow murmurs like an overgrown puppy.

 

It's as if they aren't even aware of the other's existence.)

 

...

 

A fire—curiosity, or perhaps a deeper thirst to _know_ —is kindled and set ablaze inside him in an instant, its scorching heat driving him to _move_.

 

 _He has to know_.

 

...

 

(At his right, Armin is staring at him like he's grown crazy, which maybe not far from the truth, and Kr—Historia, who until now was sitting sullenly at Jean's left, is opening her mouth as if to ask what's wrong.

 

Neither of them manages to voice their concerns, as a moment later, Jean dives without a word under the table. He knocks into the table's legs and so, upturns most bowls and glasses on it, earning a startled yelp from Connie, confused shouts from Armin and Historia, a growl from Sasha, and a vague 'huh' from Mikasa.

 

But Jean does not care about any of those things.

 

Because he is under the table.

 

And he _sees._ )

_..._

 

What.

 

The.

 

Flying.

 

Fuck.

 

...

 

("What the hell, horse face?!" The Bastard is red from ears to neck.

 

Well, damn. They weren't playing footsie.

 

"Oi." The Corporal just glares.

 

 _Damn fuck_.

 

They weren't playing fucking footsie.

 

They weren't fucking playing footsie because no matter how fast the Corporal's feet moved away to settle harmlessly on the floor, Jean can still see the image of those polished shoes moving sinuously _between the Bastard's twitching thighs._

And that is not footsie.

 

Jean refuses to consider _that_ playing footsie.

 

No, sir, no way—)

 

...

 

Darkness.

 

…

 

("Jean? Jean!"

 

"Horse face?!"

 

"Oi, Kirstein!"

 

"Jean!"

 

"Someone get him water!"

 

"Jean, get a grip!"

 

"...He fainted.")


End file.
